As a joke, my teammates have started a "Memorial Quinn Day" party back at the alma mater which is another college excuse to party, with the side benefit of having my face plastered everywhere. Hurray.
But sorry guys, because with my first update in months, I'm hijacking the day to waste an hour at work by compiling my thoughts over this transition in my running life/career.
After I graduated, I was pretty down on running. My senior year was the first year I failed to PR, in either XC or Track, in my 9-year tenure. I think I went into the woe ad nauseam in previous posts so I won't rehash it here.
I slowly got back into some semi regular miles in Denver before I moved out to Ann Arbor for a new gig, but nothing that could constitute as actual 'training' in the way we define it. Sure I can still rip a quick workout here or there, but I can't do it consistently, and as anyone who has done hard training knows, individual efforts are typically worthwhile, but without consistency they can quickly become worthless.
A few weeks before leaving Denver, it was the middle of January winter and I went out for what would become my coldest run I'd ever done. A 5 degree afternoon took a quick hit very early in my run, and dropped quickly to -5 before I was finished. My run that followed a nearly-iced-over river through downtown that was typically alive with joggers, bikers, families out for walks, and college kids doing a myriad of nameless activities was empty. Not 'pretty empty,' but empty.
4 miles later I was still cold as shit, and nearing my turnaround point. Still no one. Still cold as shit, and getting colder. The air burns your lungs, and I was questioning, as I had for the previous 6 months, why I was out there. One or two minutes before I hit my turnaround, a flock of nearly a thousand geese flew down to rest on the river and get a drink before continuing on their trip. Obviously a migration stop, I came to my turnaround point and just stood there, in the blistering cold, watching hundreds upon hundreds of unfamiliar birds crash into the ice, into each other, some landing in water, some sliding across the frozen wakes like gigantic, stupid marbles with horns for voices.
It was simultaneously hilarious, beautiful, and sad. There was no one else around for miles, as I had taken a path leading directly away from the city toward the train shipping district.
I don't know exactly what about this scene had such a deep impact on me, and thinking back I can't articulate it to a satisfying degree. Maybe it was the thought that without running and exploring 9 or 10 miles every day opens you up to these sorts of opportunities, maybe it was the feeling that I alone was out there in the January freeze, putting in semi-solid miles for no particular reason, training for nothing in particular. The feeling that my passive drive was stronger than innumerable others active ones in the area, regardless of the fact that there's no way to verify whether or not that was true, especially in one stupid run for one stupid hour of the frozen day. But I felt it anyway. Maybe it was just as simple as appreciating nature. I don't know.
But it had a big impact on me, so that for the days, weeks, and months that followed I started to train more regularly.
On this week, when Memorial Quinn Day started popping up on my facebook newsfeed like a drunk Celtics fan with access to LeBron James' twitter (looking at you, Rafer), I sit here thinking about the memorial of my running, and whether or not I want to hang up the spikes totally, because I clearly don't.
I have been focused on speed skating like I have talked about earlier, but I'm still a complete novice after a few lessons here and there. It will take time, and I am not giving up that easily. But while I grapple with this new sport, I think I can continue to train for running pretty intensely without sacrificing much. The races are short and fast, and if I look to combine 800-1500m training with some catered lifting, perhaps I can get to new heights that I previously hadn't tried before. Who knows.
It may be Memorial Quinn Day, but while I am no longer an actively-competing CMS Stag, my career isn't at a point where I can let it go, and in that recognition comes the same feeling I had on that frozen day in Denver, turning around to run home, alone.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Post-Collegiate
Israel, the various nations of western Europe, and a smattering of half a dozen States across the country on a trip that looks like a paint brush flicked at a map, I am finally settled down in Denver for a two-year stint with CoPIRG, a public advocacy non-profit, as a lobbyist for energy efficiency with a grassroots base.
The hours are fine, typically 8:30-5:30, but about once a week there's some press event, meeting, student outreach, or recruitment work that has me put in a 14 hour day or so. But most of that is made up of either long meetings or traveling around to the far corners of the State, so it's less work than just time to kill.
As I get back into shape, I have a few options around me. Amazingly, my apartment is literally across the street from the cherry creek trail, a 50+ mile path that wraps around Denver, following a river that the city was founded by. My apartment also has a pretty nice gym, which I've experimented with a few times to see how much weight I can put up after not lifting since...well, ever really. Turns out not that much. Surprise surprise.
By doing a lot of walking around while traveling I never really got to the point where I couldn't do any single run or workout that I was doing when I was in peak shape, I just can't do them consistently. I learned that the hard way, as I put in a track and tempo workout followed by lifting weights for muscles I previously didn't know I had - and promptly getting injured.
First, it was a shoulder. Then, I strained both calves trying to run 62s 400s after doing shit-all for three or four months. Now, it's my right hip flexor. Learning from my mistakes after making them three times over, I've decided that while it may not seem to me that 40 or 45 miles in the first few weeks is all that much, it's all I can do without re-injuring myself. So, the stationary bike it is and has been for a week or so now.
My hip flexor wasn't bothering me these last two days so I took a chance and did a moderate 7 miler tonight. It held up alright, starting to bother me a little after 30 minutes and really nipping at me with each stride in the last few minutes. It feels like a stubborn steel rod, refusing to give up and just bend as my leg gyroscopes around it like a nail caught in the in between two gears.
I'm thinking about taking a running hiatus. Just as soon as I get back into shape.
Now bear with me. I'm thinking I want to get into long-track speed skating. I'm 5280 feet up in a city built on winter sports and I have fat quads and a thin upper body. It might work. Also probably less competitive than running, so thats a benefit, albeit a selfish one.
And if it doesn't work out, well, I always have my running. My second home.
The hours are fine, typically 8:30-5:30, but about once a week there's some press event, meeting, student outreach, or recruitment work that has me put in a 14 hour day or so. But most of that is made up of either long meetings or traveling around to the far corners of the State, so it's less work than just time to kill.
As I get back into shape, I have a few options around me. Amazingly, my apartment is literally across the street from the cherry creek trail, a 50+ mile path that wraps around Denver, following a river that the city was founded by. My apartment also has a pretty nice gym, which I've experimented with a few times to see how much weight I can put up after not lifting since...well, ever really. Turns out not that much. Surprise surprise.
By doing a lot of walking around while traveling I never really got to the point where I couldn't do any single run or workout that I was doing when I was in peak shape, I just can't do them consistently. I learned that the hard way, as I put in a track and tempo workout followed by lifting weights for muscles I previously didn't know I had - and promptly getting injured.
First, it was a shoulder. Then, I strained both calves trying to run 62s 400s after doing shit-all for three or four months. Now, it's my right hip flexor. Learning from my mistakes after making them three times over, I've decided that while it may not seem to me that 40 or 45 miles in the first few weeks is all that much, it's all I can do without re-injuring myself. So, the stationary bike it is and has been for a week or so now.
My hip flexor wasn't bothering me these last two days so I took a chance and did a moderate 7 miler tonight. It held up alright, starting to bother me a little after 30 minutes and really nipping at me with each stride in the last few minutes. It feels like a stubborn steel rod, refusing to give up and just bend as my leg gyroscopes around it like a nail caught in the in between two gears.
I'm thinking about taking a running hiatus. Just as soon as I get back into shape.
Now bear with me. I'm thinking I want to get into long-track speed skating. I'm 5280 feet up in a city built on winter sports and I have fat quads and a thin upper body. It might work. Also probably less competitive than running, so thats a benefit, albeit a selfish one.
And if it doesn't work out, well, I always have my running. My second home.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Collective Triumphs and Personal Failures
It's 85 degrees with 90% humidity on the boardwalk in Tel Aviv, Israel at 10 o'clock at night. I'm 40 minutes into a 50 minute run, my first run in 6 weeks since I donned my college uniform for the last time.
The boardwalk is brilliant. It zigzags up the coastline, either extending its limbs into the Mediterranean sea itself, or coming back and forming a sea-wall against sections with stronger current. Ingeniously, the city uses green lights for their lighthouses, and as the head spins the already-green water gets lit a magnificent emerald color as the tide swells crash violently into sea wall, exploding what looks like thousands of gem stones of five feet or so over my head as I plod along the waters edge. I thought that the occasional spray would cool me down in this abysmally hot night, but the water is just so warm that I'm not sure if it's helping me or just adding salt to my sweat. Like sweat needs any more salt.
I'm wrapping up a 5 week journey that has taken me from Israel, to Germany, Austria, Italy, France, Spain, Holland, England, and back to Israel again. After a frantic run up to graduation, the time away is something I needed. But this blog is about my running, and I'll explain it through that lens.
Coming into the season, my sights were singularly focused on making NCAAs in the 1500m. I needed to shave 3 seconds, and I pulled back on mileage and increased the tempos and light speed work over winter, which was the balance I thought I needed to fix what was off last season. It started off great with a solid opening 800m in the first week of February, and a 3:05.0 1200m leg on our school-record DMR two weeks later. Unfortunately, a tweak during a workout led to chronic achilles pain and I was sidelined for a couple weeks, relegated to the pool. No worries, I swam relatively competitively most of my life, and can put together really nice workouts in the pool, so that's what I did.
The miscalculations started there, alone in a pool with no guidance or restraints, where the loss of running work led me to believe that I needed to work double time to make up ground that I had lost, or was actively losing. I would do one tough workout, akin to something like 12x400m @ goal 1500m pace (aka 12x100y free) w/ 90s rest. Then, I would cool down, stretch, then hop back in for some sprint work, akin to something like 10x200m all-out (aka 10x50y free) with 60s recovery. It was the pool! There's no pounding to grind down your joints and muscles, and so you can work harder than you can while training on dry land.
I spent two weeks coming up with creative ways to destroy my body over the hours and miles in that lonely pool. Coming out the minute my achilles could handle it (definitely too early, but managing the pain to the point of stasis), I walked right into one of the hardest training periods of the season.
My first race back after that week was 1500m where no one had run under 3:58, where my coaches and I decided would be a good test effort to see how I was holding up. We hit straight 64s, and it was so easy, but I was sore and tired from three hard weeks of training, and when I hit the front (totally by natural movement, without even trying to make a run for it) with 200m to go, I had no gears to turn to. The 3:59 I ran was fine for the circumstances, and I wasn't all that discouraged. I really was tired.
The problem was, by this point in the season, I had about 3 more 1500m runs to get to nationals. To run 3:50 or 3:51. I had the perfect race last season to run 3:54, and I would need the perfect race again to run that time. I became obsessed with the splits, with hitting the workouts, with getting comfortable running 61-61.mid pace. The first race went out in 2:03, and I was right with the leaders as we rounded the best with 500m to go, before completely falling apart in the last lap, running a 66.
At conference championships, our stud runner blew the field apart with a 59 or 60s lap from 400-800m, a pace I didn't think the two runners who followed him could sustain, and I held back and tried to pick them back off over the second half of the race. They surprised me and held on very strongly, and I ran in no-mans land the whole way, finishing a very disappointing 4th in 4:00, essentially a solo effort from 400m out, trying desperately to pull in the kits that just never came an inch back.
The last 1500m went out in 2:05, and I was prepared to go after it the second half of the race, but lost concentration as the pack just didnt break up at all, and was fighting for position on the pole when I really just should have gone around the outside, and ended up being way off pace with 300m to go and simply could close in the required 54 seconds, obviously, over the last lap to hit the mark.
Knowing that my nationals dreams were snubbed out, I begged my coaches to let me have one last go at the 800m, because I hadn't run it seriously in two years, and I saw my PR as greatly undeserving my ability level. I didn't think I would run 1:51 but I was hoping for 1:53 or 1:52.high at best. That week during training, the plight of my achilles was coming back, wrenching pain shooting up my left leg higher and higher as I tried to taper and get comfortable with the fast pace of the 800m at the same time.
Slipping on my uniform for the last time, I was visibly unnerved. Cross country season saw no personal bests, but courses are different so that is forgivable. Tracks are all the same, and Southern California has but one season - 70+ and sunny - so conditions save wind are not a factor. I had no set a PR this season, and was desperate. The race went out in 55.high, and coming around the back stretch I moved up on the deep, fast field. Approaching the 600m mark a sliver under 1:24, I took a step to get around a fading runner before the bend.
I felt a seize. Two steps. A wrench. One step. A small pop.
I step off the track, my achilles on the verge of tearing viciously along the middle of my calf. It happened once before, albeit a very slight tear, when I was 14 and growing rapidly. I don't remember the circumstances exactly, but I remember the pain. And this pain was the same.
My season ended with my pounding my fists against the ground, dropping out of a race I was on pace to PR in, my last race, and failing to finish in a good time meant failing to improve for the first time in 9 years. Since I started running the 800m in 8th grad with a time of 2:14, I had PR'd in once event or another every single year. My sophomore year of high school I PR'd in just about every RACE I ran. And now, at my most experienced, in my last season, I had failed to do so.
At home after graduation, I watched my closest friends have outstanding performances at NCAAs. My roommates ran the 4x400m together, one of them getting All-American honors in the 400m. Two other teammates also were All-Americans in the 5k and Steeplechase respectively, with a slough of other teammates putting up great efforts in other events (including others int he 5k and Steeple). Me not being there did not make me any less proud of them, or our program.
CMS had finished the highest it had ever finished in XC on both the mens and womens side, and our mens track team had re-taken the SCIAC title for the first time since losing our 19-year winning streak after sophomore year. We were ranked one of (if the THE best) duel-meet team in the country, and the freshman, who I had been so worried about coming into the season, had put up times and marks better than our class in many ways at the same age, leaving me confident in the future of the program. Our success was their success, and visa versa.
But in the back of my mind, I was physically and mentally burned. Six weeks away from running let both of those wounds heal, and I turn to the next phase of my life - the working life - with a renewed body and a bitter mind. My past successes have always fueled my desire to improve, as the joys of winning and hitting marks I once never fathomed just made me want to experience those moments more often.
The pain of failure is a stronger motivation. While I'm a runner - and runners always think, always know they can do better, even after a fantastic run - I have always found saving graces in my seasons. Even when I was very anemic and almost had to get a blood transfusion to correct it, I turned to speed and found PRs in the both the 400m and the 800m, where previously I was focused on the 1600m and the 3200m.
But failure is, well, embarrassing. I found myself wanting to shake people scanning the results of our latest meet. Saying look, I'm not actually that slow. I just had a rough patch and went a little hard here, and took a misstep there, and really I can compete with anyone, I swear. But those excuses, always left unsaid, get harder and harder to really believe after a slough of shit performances, one after another.
I'm not going to really start training again until my job starts up in August, but I'll be in Denver, CO, the mile high city. At 5280 ft, what better place to find my talent? I'm spending two years at altitude, and eventually I'll be able to return to the Southern California tracks where I last remember failure, and instill new memories of success. Of that I have no doubt.
The boardwalk is brilliant. It zigzags up the coastline, either extending its limbs into the Mediterranean sea itself, or coming back and forming a sea-wall against sections with stronger current. Ingeniously, the city uses green lights for their lighthouses, and as the head spins the already-green water gets lit a magnificent emerald color as the tide swells crash violently into sea wall, exploding what looks like thousands of gem stones of five feet or so over my head as I plod along the waters edge. I thought that the occasional spray would cool me down in this abysmally hot night, but the water is just so warm that I'm not sure if it's helping me or just adding salt to my sweat. Like sweat needs any more salt.
I'm wrapping up a 5 week journey that has taken me from Israel, to Germany, Austria, Italy, France, Spain, Holland, England, and back to Israel again. After a frantic run up to graduation, the time away is something I needed. But this blog is about my running, and I'll explain it through that lens.
Coming into the season, my sights were singularly focused on making NCAAs in the 1500m. I needed to shave 3 seconds, and I pulled back on mileage and increased the tempos and light speed work over winter, which was the balance I thought I needed to fix what was off last season. It started off great with a solid opening 800m in the first week of February, and a 3:05.0 1200m leg on our school-record DMR two weeks later. Unfortunately, a tweak during a workout led to chronic achilles pain and I was sidelined for a couple weeks, relegated to the pool. No worries, I swam relatively competitively most of my life, and can put together really nice workouts in the pool, so that's what I did.
The miscalculations started there, alone in a pool with no guidance or restraints, where the loss of running work led me to believe that I needed to work double time to make up ground that I had lost, or was actively losing. I would do one tough workout, akin to something like 12x400m @ goal 1500m pace (aka 12x100y free) w/ 90s rest. Then, I would cool down, stretch, then hop back in for some sprint work, akin to something like 10x200m all-out (aka 10x50y free) with 60s recovery. It was the pool! There's no pounding to grind down your joints and muscles, and so you can work harder than you can while training on dry land.
I spent two weeks coming up with creative ways to destroy my body over the hours and miles in that lonely pool. Coming out the minute my achilles could handle it (definitely too early, but managing the pain to the point of stasis), I walked right into one of the hardest training periods of the season.
My first race back after that week was 1500m where no one had run under 3:58, where my coaches and I decided would be a good test effort to see how I was holding up. We hit straight 64s, and it was so easy, but I was sore and tired from three hard weeks of training, and when I hit the front (totally by natural movement, without even trying to make a run for it) with 200m to go, I had no gears to turn to. The 3:59 I ran was fine for the circumstances, and I wasn't all that discouraged. I really was tired.
The problem was, by this point in the season, I had about 3 more 1500m runs to get to nationals. To run 3:50 or 3:51. I had the perfect race last season to run 3:54, and I would need the perfect race again to run that time. I became obsessed with the splits, with hitting the workouts, with getting comfortable running 61-61.mid pace. The first race went out in 2:03, and I was right with the leaders as we rounded the best with 500m to go, before completely falling apart in the last lap, running a 66.
At conference championships, our stud runner blew the field apart with a 59 or 60s lap from 400-800m, a pace I didn't think the two runners who followed him could sustain, and I held back and tried to pick them back off over the second half of the race. They surprised me and held on very strongly, and I ran in no-mans land the whole way, finishing a very disappointing 4th in 4:00, essentially a solo effort from 400m out, trying desperately to pull in the kits that just never came an inch back.
The last 1500m went out in 2:05, and I was prepared to go after it the second half of the race, but lost concentration as the pack just didnt break up at all, and was fighting for position on the pole when I really just should have gone around the outside, and ended up being way off pace with 300m to go and simply could close in the required 54 seconds, obviously, over the last lap to hit the mark.
Knowing that my nationals dreams were snubbed out, I begged my coaches to let me have one last go at the 800m, because I hadn't run it seriously in two years, and I saw my PR as greatly undeserving my ability level. I didn't think I would run 1:51 but I was hoping for 1:53 or 1:52.high at best. That week during training, the plight of my achilles was coming back, wrenching pain shooting up my left leg higher and higher as I tried to taper and get comfortable with the fast pace of the 800m at the same time.
Slipping on my uniform for the last time, I was visibly unnerved. Cross country season saw no personal bests, but courses are different so that is forgivable. Tracks are all the same, and Southern California has but one season - 70+ and sunny - so conditions save wind are not a factor. I had no set a PR this season, and was desperate. The race went out in 55.high, and coming around the back stretch I moved up on the deep, fast field. Approaching the 600m mark a sliver under 1:24, I took a step to get around a fading runner before the bend.
I felt a seize. Two steps. A wrench. One step. A small pop.
I step off the track, my achilles on the verge of tearing viciously along the middle of my calf. It happened once before, albeit a very slight tear, when I was 14 and growing rapidly. I don't remember the circumstances exactly, but I remember the pain. And this pain was the same.
My season ended with my pounding my fists against the ground, dropping out of a race I was on pace to PR in, my last race, and failing to finish in a good time meant failing to improve for the first time in 9 years. Since I started running the 800m in 8th grad with a time of 2:14, I had PR'd in once event or another every single year. My sophomore year of high school I PR'd in just about every RACE I ran. And now, at my most experienced, in my last season, I had failed to do so.
At home after graduation, I watched my closest friends have outstanding performances at NCAAs. My roommates ran the 4x400m together, one of them getting All-American honors in the 400m. Two other teammates also were All-Americans in the 5k and Steeplechase respectively, with a slough of other teammates putting up great efforts in other events (including others int he 5k and Steeple). Me not being there did not make me any less proud of them, or our program.
CMS had finished the highest it had ever finished in XC on both the mens and womens side, and our mens track team had re-taken the SCIAC title for the first time since losing our 19-year winning streak after sophomore year. We were ranked one of (if the THE best) duel-meet team in the country, and the freshman, who I had been so worried about coming into the season, had put up times and marks better than our class in many ways at the same age, leaving me confident in the future of the program. Our success was their success, and visa versa.
But in the back of my mind, I was physically and mentally burned. Six weeks away from running let both of those wounds heal, and I turn to the next phase of my life - the working life - with a renewed body and a bitter mind. My past successes have always fueled my desire to improve, as the joys of winning and hitting marks I once never fathomed just made me want to experience those moments more often.
The pain of failure is a stronger motivation. While I'm a runner - and runners always think, always know they can do better, even after a fantastic run - I have always found saving graces in my seasons. Even when I was very anemic and almost had to get a blood transfusion to correct it, I turned to speed and found PRs in the both the 400m and the 800m, where previously I was focused on the 1600m and the 3200m.
But failure is, well, embarrassing. I found myself wanting to shake people scanning the results of our latest meet. Saying look, I'm not actually that slow. I just had a rough patch and went a little hard here, and took a misstep there, and really I can compete with anyone, I swear. But those excuses, always left unsaid, get harder and harder to really believe after a slough of shit performances, one after another.
I'm not going to really start training again until my job starts up in August, but I'll be in Denver, CO, the mile high city. At 5280 ft, what better place to find my talent? I'm spending two years at altitude, and eventually I'll be able to return to the Southern California tracks where I last remember failure, and instill new memories of success. Of that I have no doubt.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Achilles Issues
Since that race in February, I've been struggling with some achilles issues that have steadily gotten worse and worse. At first I did the typical recovery stuff and that slowed it down and I thought it would get better. Then I had to start doing the elliptical on our normal base run days, and run the workouts. But, alas, it hit a peak last week when I limped by way to an abysmal 4:02 in the 1500m. Literally limped.
So, I took last week off of running (which was convenient because it was Spring break) and swam 2-3000 yards in the pool everyday.
Luckily, I'm a fairly proficient swimmer. Swam in high school and clocked a 22.9 50y free on a split, and low 50s in the 100y free from a start as well, so I'm not totally inept. It was just enough to be able to absolutely trash my body every day for a little over a week in the pool, while working aggressively on my achilles to try and get it better.
I ran in a meet last weekend. A little po-dunk quad meet with a few schools close by. I was in the 800m, and was running against a field I was more than capable of beating. But I was tired. Very tired. I tried to not think about it, and truth be told I was confident on the line. But after about 250m I knew it was going to be a grind. I was slipping backwards fast as I went through in 57.5, which was not a good sign. With 200m to go I was 5m off the pace and in 6th. Coming around the bend I recognized the runner who had just slipped past me, and I just fixed my eyes on him and pumped my arms and drove through the line to get up for 3rd past some dying guys (literally) in the last 5m.
That 1:57 was a second slower than I had run over a month ago. Tired, heavy, and having run my first steps in over a week on the warmup that morning, I was at my worst. I don't know if 1:57 on my worst day is a good thing or a bad thing, but it's the reality.
Next week I'm running against a much more quality field in the 1500m. I'll get back on my feet and see what these legs are capable of. Still a lot of season to go yet.
So, I took last week off of running (which was convenient because it was Spring break) and swam 2-3000 yards in the pool everyday.
Luckily, I'm a fairly proficient swimmer. Swam in high school and clocked a 22.9 50y free on a split, and low 50s in the 100y free from a start as well, so I'm not totally inept. It was just enough to be able to absolutely trash my body every day for a little over a week in the pool, while working aggressively on my achilles to try and get it better.
I ran in a meet last weekend. A little po-dunk quad meet with a few schools close by. I was in the 800m, and was running against a field I was more than capable of beating. But I was tired. Very tired. I tried to not think about it, and truth be told I was confident on the line. But after about 250m I knew it was going to be a grind. I was slipping backwards fast as I went through in 57.5, which was not a good sign. With 200m to go I was 5m off the pace and in 6th. Coming around the bend I recognized the runner who had just slipped past me, and I just fixed my eyes on him and pumped my arms and drove through the line to get up for 3rd past some dying guys (literally) in the last 5m.
That 1:57 was a second slower than I had run over a month ago. Tired, heavy, and having run my first steps in over a week on the warmup that morning, I was at my worst. I don't know if 1:57 on my worst day is a good thing or a bad thing, but it's the reality.
Next week I'm running against a much more quality field in the 1500m. I'll get back on my feet and see what these legs are capable of. Still a lot of season to go yet.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Last Hurrah
Track season is well underway down here in Southern California, and putting aside from job hunting, thesis, classes, and my research institute job, I try to find that calm bliss embodied in track spikes and lactic acid. It's not as twisted as it sounds.
I'm excited. The season has been opened pretty well. I opened up my season with an 800m down in UCSD in a 1:56, going 56-60 or thereabouts. The thing is, I can't run a 400m (even on a split) under 53 seconds, even after 3 attempts at the 4x4, which shows me how strong I am compared to just how physically slow I also am raw-speed wise. I got dusted by a few guys on my team, but that's okay. They're talented and all ran great.
The more-important indicator that I wanted this race to show me was how I could do in a 1200m. 1200m? Yes, 1200m.
We tried to break the school record in the DMR (distance medley relay) yesterday, but I'll get to that in a moment. Last year at UCSD, I ran the 800m in 1:59 coming off of 8+ months of pure base work, and could barely scratch an abysmal 54.9 in the 4x4. It turned out that the 'natural' speed I had just assumed I had, I did not have. Oops. However, I was able to run a 3:09.0 in the 1200m the previous, which isn't necessarily all that bad.
This year, going 1:56 and cutting a faster-yet-still-quite-slow 53.low in the 4x4 shows my I have that anaerobic strength to really get after it in the 1200m/1500m. I may not be able to run very fast, but I can hold it.
Cut to yesterday. I'm on the 1200m let of our DMR, trying to break the school record of 10:14. As the opening leg, I put immense pressure on myself to get our relay out to a good start. To set the tone for the rest of the relay. I just couldn't get it out of my head all week. The relay record as it stands has a 4:11 anchor, so we needed to get our miler, Bennett, as much of a cushion as possible. I had to run fast, there was no way around it. I had to. I just had to.
I wanted to go out in 61 and then 2:03, thinking that no matter what, I would have at least a 63 in the tank to bring it home. When I ran 3:54 last year, I was pretty tired going into the last lap but still managed a 62.mid.
The race being at 1:40pm, I woke up at 8:00am to do a shakeout and get the blood flowing. The thing is, that only took 20-25min. Now its a few minutes past 8:30am and I'm sitting in my apartment trying not to tremble with nervous anxiety.
People will tell you that the pain of losing or the physical pain of just running is the worst part of track. But they're wrong. It's the waiting. It's the sitting for hours on end, not being able to focus on anything because of the race coming up, trying not to sit for too long because you'll get tight. But not wanting to stand too long because you'll get tired. Wanting to distract yourself but not by doing anything that involves significant movement. Then realizing it's only been 6 minutes. I think the worst way to die would be in the middle of waiting for a race. I feel like the combined stimulus of whatever the fuck is killing me and the anxiety I already felt would give me a heart attack.
My spikes are on and I'm taking the last of my strides. I feel my hand shake with the baton slapping nervously against my leg, but I hardly feel it. I cough and do a dry heave. Holy shit, don't throw up now or else you're really fucked. Calm down. Now. calm down now.
When the gun goes off someone from USC takes it out, followed by a Westmont guy and my first few steps allow my to cut right behind them. After satisfying myself around the first turn that the pace is sufficiently to my liking, I just sit and trot along, coming through the 400m in 61s. Perfect.
Westmont is slowing, the USC guy is pulling away a bit. Cut around him on the back. Okay sit here. Wait, this guy is slowing down too. Come on man, keep it up. Dont pass on the turn, its windy...use it on the straight...okay...okay...go. Time to go.
Coming toward the 800m mark my eyes are fixed on the clock as I try to slowly take the pace down. 2:04.mid. Around with 300m to go and I open up, but I can't shake the USC guy. We're really moving, and with a burst of speed he re-takes the lead with 200m to go and immediately opens up a 5m gap. I counter, but can't catch him. He stays there, 5m ahead of me, all the way in. Hand off to big jeff right on 3:05, would've been a 3:04 had I just run straight through the line.
Jeff destroys the USC kid, running 48.0. Gives it to little Jeff, who runs alone for the first lap, gets pulled back in by USC, but then subsequently blows him out of the water around the final bend to run 1:54.0. Two phenomenal runs. Bennett barely has to run under 4:30 to get the record. He clips off alone to run 4:18/19. 10:06.
I think the record will be there for a long time. It's rare in DIII to get guys to do something like this at this point in the season, and we never run a DMR after this week (week 4?). It's something I think we can be proud of, and will always be one of my favorite memories running for CMS, a program that has given me as much as I could possibly ask for.
Glowing nostalgia aside, the implications of this race are pretty awesome. One of the reasons why I was so nervous was more than the sought after record.
The last 3 years, I have run my 1500m PR going through 1200m about 1.5s faster than I ran the 1200m at this point. I.E., freshman year I ran 3:14 (65 pace), and went through in 3:13 to run 4:02 (64.5 pace). Sophomore year I ran 3:12 (64 pace), and went through 1200m in 3:12 but ran 3:59 (63.5 pace). Junior year I ran 3:09 (63 pace), and went through 1200m in 3:07.5 to run 3:54 (62.5 pace). This year I run 3:05 (61.6 pace).....so can I go through in 3:03.5 (61.1 pace)? That would put me at a 3:49, which would most definitely make nationals and have a good shot at being All-American.
While no metric is perfect, this one has been very consistent in years of less-than-consistent running. I just hope that it's consistent this time as well. If it's not, then let's hope it's just because I run faster.
I'm excited. The season has been opened pretty well. I opened up my season with an 800m down in UCSD in a 1:56, going 56-60 or thereabouts. The thing is, I can't run a 400m (even on a split) under 53 seconds, even after 3 attempts at the 4x4, which shows me how strong I am compared to just how physically slow I also am raw-speed wise. I got dusted by a few guys on my team, but that's okay. They're talented and all ran great.
The more-important indicator that I wanted this race to show me was how I could do in a 1200m. 1200m? Yes, 1200m.
We tried to break the school record in the DMR (distance medley relay) yesterday, but I'll get to that in a moment. Last year at UCSD, I ran the 800m in 1:59 coming off of 8+ months of pure base work, and could barely scratch an abysmal 54.9 in the 4x4. It turned out that the 'natural' speed I had just assumed I had, I did not have. Oops. However, I was able to run a 3:09.0 in the 1200m the previous, which isn't necessarily all that bad.
This year, going 1:56 and cutting a faster-yet-still-quite-slow 53.low in the 4x4 shows my I have that anaerobic strength to really get after it in the 1200m/1500m. I may not be able to run very fast, but I can hold it.
Cut to yesterday. I'm on the 1200m let of our DMR, trying to break the school record of 10:14. As the opening leg, I put immense pressure on myself to get our relay out to a good start. To set the tone for the rest of the relay. I just couldn't get it out of my head all week. The relay record as it stands has a 4:11 anchor, so we needed to get our miler, Bennett, as much of a cushion as possible. I had to run fast, there was no way around it. I had to. I just had to.
I wanted to go out in 61 and then 2:03, thinking that no matter what, I would have at least a 63 in the tank to bring it home. When I ran 3:54 last year, I was pretty tired going into the last lap but still managed a 62.mid.
The race being at 1:40pm, I woke up at 8:00am to do a shakeout and get the blood flowing. The thing is, that only took 20-25min. Now its a few minutes past 8:30am and I'm sitting in my apartment trying not to tremble with nervous anxiety.
People will tell you that the pain of losing or the physical pain of just running is the worst part of track. But they're wrong. It's the waiting. It's the sitting for hours on end, not being able to focus on anything because of the race coming up, trying not to sit for too long because you'll get tight. But not wanting to stand too long because you'll get tired. Wanting to distract yourself but not by doing anything that involves significant movement. Then realizing it's only been 6 minutes. I think the worst way to die would be in the middle of waiting for a race. I feel like the combined stimulus of whatever the fuck is killing me and the anxiety I already felt would give me a heart attack.
My spikes are on and I'm taking the last of my strides. I feel my hand shake with the baton slapping nervously against my leg, but I hardly feel it. I cough and do a dry heave. Holy shit, don't throw up now or else you're really fucked. Calm down. Now. calm down now.
When the gun goes off someone from USC takes it out, followed by a Westmont guy and my first few steps allow my to cut right behind them. After satisfying myself around the first turn that the pace is sufficiently to my liking, I just sit and trot along, coming through the 400m in 61s. Perfect.
Westmont is slowing, the USC guy is pulling away a bit. Cut around him on the back. Okay sit here. Wait, this guy is slowing down too. Come on man, keep it up. Dont pass on the turn, its windy...use it on the straight...okay...okay...go. Time to go.
Coming toward the 800m mark my eyes are fixed on the clock as I try to slowly take the pace down. 2:04.mid. Around with 300m to go and I open up, but I can't shake the USC guy. We're really moving, and with a burst of speed he re-takes the lead with 200m to go and immediately opens up a 5m gap. I counter, but can't catch him. He stays there, 5m ahead of me, all the way in. Hand off to big jeff right on 3:05, would've been a 3:04 had I just run straight through the line.
Jeff destroys the USC kid, running 48.0. Gives it to little Jeff, who runs alone for the first lap, gets pulled back in by USC, but then subsequently blows him out of the water around the final bend to run 1:54.0. Two phenomenal runs. Bennett barely has to run under 4:30 to get the record. He clips off alone to run 4:18/19. 10:06.
I think the record will be there for a long time. It's rare in DIII to get guys to do something like this at this point in the season, and we never run a DMR after this week (week 4?). It's something I think we can be proud of, and will always be one of my favorite memories running for CMS, a program that has given me as much as I could possibly ask for.
Glowing nostalgia aside, the implications of this race are pretty awesome. One of the reasons why I was so nervous was more than the sought after record.
The last 3 years, I have run my 1500m PR going through 1200m about 1.5s faster than I ran the 1200m at this point. I.E., freshman year I ran 3:14 (65 pace), and went through in 3:13 to run 4:02 (64.5 pace). Sophomore year I ran 3:12 (64 pace), and went through 1200m in 3:12 but ran 3:59 (63.5 pace). Junior year I ran 3:09 (63 pace), and went through 1200m in 3:07.5 to run 3:54 (62.5 pace). This year I run 3:05 (61.6 pace).....so can I go through in 3:03.5 (61.1 pace)? That would put me at a 3:49, which would most definitely make nationals and have a good shot at being All-American.
While no metric is perfect, this one has been very consistent in years of less-than-consistent running. I just hope that it's consistent this time as well. If it's not, then let's hope it's just because I run faster.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Untitled
Studying hours on hours for finals. 3:30. Going to get dark soon, should do my run now.
What is my run? 10 hard. Fuck I hate these. Grab wet shoes. Do the easiest 10 mile loop I know. 58:08. Felt like shit. Time is shit. Fuck I hate those.
Back in apartment. Laying face down on floor due to exhaustion. I really should vacuum this floor. Laugh at absurdity.
Get up, eat apple sauce for post workout glucose. Shower. Back to studying.
Elapsed time: 80 minutes.
What is my run? 10 hard. Fuck I hate these. Grab wet shoes. Do the easiest 10 mile loop I know. 58:08. Felt like shit. Time is shit. Fuck I hate those.
Back in apartment. Laying face down on floor due to exhaustion. I really should vacuum this floor. Laugh at absurdity.
Get up, eat apple sauce for post workout glucose. Shower. Back to studying.
Elapsed time: 80 minutes.
Friday, December 14, 2012
XC Season and Moving On
I guess that not writing a post since I ended my summer training tells you how my XC season went.
But just in case let's break the suspense -- it went pretty shitty.
At the end of track (two posts ago), my coach and I came to a consensus that I tired myself out with new over-distance work and that the long fatigue + no speed work hurt my track season.
So, the plan this summer was to back off the miles a bit and do a little more quality to maintain house, but not too much to make me tired. "Let the work come build itself" was the final word on the issue.
So that's what I did, and I came into the season out of racing shape. Well, I shouldn't say that. I ran okay throughout the season. High-25's to mid-26's consistently. I had developed strength so that instead of popping one fast time off now and then, I could consistently run pretty well day in and day out.
But I hadn't given myself room to grow with my summer training like I had in years previously, and I missed a glorious opportunity to help my team to the next level, but they got there anyway, because they're the shit and stepped up when the time called for it.
I'm not really that mad about the way the season ended. I was at our conference championships and stepped in a hole, over-extended my heel, and strained my achilles around the 2mile mark. I'm not really that mad that this happened at the perfectly wrong part of the season, so that this little injury put me out for 2 weeks, and that I could only start training again the week of nationals, which coach decided (and I agree with him) that I wouldn't be ready in time to race on the national level as I had been on the cusp of our varsity team all season. I'm not really mad about all that unfortunate-ness.
I'm mad that the reason that happened is that I was already so tired at 2 miles trying to hang on to the top group that I couldn't pay enough fucking attention to see a hole and avoid it. That I had to, again, fight to stay on varsity for XC. That in every season that I've ever run, I've ran an absolute PR in nearly every event I do, and this season I didn't. That I was just weak. I didn't feel strong running any XC race this season except pre-nationals, which we won (it was really awesome), and even then I ran a mediocre time.
The team went on to NCAAs to get 11th, our best finish in school history with a stellar team SO close to 10th, but that's the impetus for the young guys I suppose. It should be, they have the talent but we'll see if they have the drive.
I don't think I overdid miles leading up to last track season, I think I handled it well actually. I'm pretty confident now that it was just a speed work issue. It has always taken me a pretty long time to get my speed under me, but when I do, I really do.
So, I cast that season aside and pulled out a fresh pad of paper, torn from yellow standard to write what is to be my optimal base phase work routine. I really really like it, and in this - my 8th year running competitively, I think it finally hits all my weaknesses perfectly.
Here it is:
Day 1 - off
Day 2 - AM 4ish mile tempo. Usually pretty flat and ~5:15/5:20 pace. Tough but not too hard. ~6 all
told.
PM Base. 7-8 miles
Day 3 - Base (recovery): 8-10 miles
Day 4 - Short Long run: 11-12 miles
Day 5 - AM speed (30s 200s w/ 1min rest, 45s 300s w/ 2min rest, or 60s 400s w/ 3min rest) building
up to 400s after a few of these cycles. About 4 miles all told. +Plyos
PM Base. 7-8 miles
Day 6 - Base (recovery) 8-10 miles
Day 7 - Base +Plyos. 8-10 miles
Day 8 - 10hard. Long tempo. Usually ~5:45-5:50 pace unless I feel pretty good or pretty shitty. Goal is to run in the 57's comfortably. I'm not too far away from that.
Day 9 - Base +Plyos. 8-10 miles
Day 10 - Long run. 13-15 miles
----
Why a 10 day cycle? Because it makes sense. 7 days it too short to get everything in there with the proper amount of rest to really get at the workouts. So we just kept adding days until the cycle ended, which was 10 days. It's a nice round number, so fuck it.
The plyos are a combination of power drills (jumps, hops, burpies, etc) and core work. There are 2 different sets that work different shit.
I've been on this for a few cycles now and I really like it. When I really get into ACTUALLY doing my 2nd runs instead of just making the cool downs a little long.....(hey, school is hard this time of year) then I'll really see the benefits.
I have strength, now I need to turn it into power. I don't want to come into this year running 4:00 with room to grow. I want to come in running 3:55 with room to grow. Going for broke. Do I want to be able to run 3:50 and go to nationals? Absolutely. But I also want to be able to close out a 3:56/7 race in 55 if I have to.
Hey, if I felt flat speed-wise running 4:00 closing in 59/60, when I'm strong and sharp....
I dont think it's out of the question. I guess I'll find out.
I'm gearing up for the end of running for a team and teammates and legacy and with a true, close-by support system. How I do here will give me an indication of what I can do beyond college out in the big bad world all my myself, and I'm pretty fucking excited.
Tip: Always stay pretty fucking excited.
But just in case let's break the suspense -- it went pretty shitty.
At the end of track (two posts ago), my coach and I came to a consensus that I tired myself out with new over-distance work and that the long fatigue + no speed work hurt my track season.
So, the plan this summer was to back off the miles a bit and do a little more quality to maintain house, but not too much to make me tired. "Let the work come build itself" was the final word on the issue.
So that's what I did, and I came into the season out of racing shape. Well, I shouldn't say that. I ran okay throughout the season. High-25's to mid-26's consistently. I had developed strength so that instead of popping one fast time off now and then, I could consistently run pretty well day in and day out.
But I hadn't given myself room to grow with my summer training like I had in years previously, and I missed a glorious opportunity to help my team to the next level, but they got there anyway, because they're the shit and stepped up when the time called for it.
I'm not really that mad about the way the season ended. I was at our conference championships and stepped in a hole, over-extended my heel, and strained my achilles around the 2mile mark. I'm not really that mad that this happened at the perfectly wrong part of the season, so that this little injury put me out for 2 weeks, and that I could only start training again the week of nationals, which coach decided (and I agree with him) that I wouldn't be ready in time to race on the national level as I had been on the cusp of our varsity team all season. I'm not really mad about all that unfortunate-ness.
I'm mad that the reason that happened is that I was already so tired at 2 miles trying to hang on to the top group that I couldn't pay enough fucking attention to see a hole and avoid it. That I had to, again, fight to stay on varsity for XC. That in every season that I've ever run, I've ran an absolute PR in nearly every event I do, and this season I didn't. That I was just weak. I didn't feel strong running any XC race this season except pre-nationals, which we won (it was really awesome), and even then I ran a mediocre time.
The team went on to NCAAs to get 11th, our best finish in school history with a stellar team SO close to 10th, but that's the impetus for the young guys I suppose. It should be, they have the talent but we'll see if they have the drive.
I don't think I overdid miles leading up to last track season, I think I handled it well actually. I'm pretty confident now that it was just a speed work issue. It has always taken me a pretty long time to get my speed under me, but when I do, I really do.
So, I cast that season aside and pulled out a fresh pad of paper, torn from yellow standard to write what is to be my optimal base phase work routine. I really really like it, and in this - my 8th year running competitively, I think it finally hits all my weaknesses perfectly.
Here it is:
Day 1 - off
Day 2 - AM 4ish mile tempo. Usually pretty flat and ~5:15/5:20 pace. Tough but not too hard. ~6 all
told.
PM Base. 7-8 miles
Day 3 - Base (recovery): 8-10 miles
Day 4 - Short Long run: 11-12 miles
Day 5 - AM speed (30s 200s w/ 1min rest, 45s 300s w/ 2min rest, or 60s 400s w/ 3min rest) building
up to 400s after a few of these cycles. About 4 miles all told. +Plyos
PM Base. 7-8 miles
Day 6 - Base (recovery) 8-10 miles
Day 7 - Base +Plyos. 8-10 miles
Day 8 - 10hard. Long tempo. Usually ~5:45-5:50 pace unless I feel pretty good or pretty shitty. Goal is to run in the 57's comfortably. I'm not too far away from that.
Day 9 - Base +Plyos. 8-10 miles
Day 10 - Long run. 13-15 miles
----
Why a 10 day cycle? Because it makes sense. 7 days it too short to get everything in there with the proper amount of rest to really get at the workouts. So we just kept adding days until the cycle ended, which was 10 days. It's a nice round number, so fuck it.
The plyos are a combination of power drills (jumps, hops, burpies, etc) and core work. There are 2 different sets that work different shit.
I've been on this for a few cycles now and I really like it. When I really get into ACTUALLY doing my 2nd runs instead of just making the cool downs a little long.....(hey, school is hard this time of year) then I'll really see the benefits.
I have strength, now I need to turn it into power. I don't want to come into this year running 4:00 with room to grow. I want to come in running 3:55 with room to grow. Going for broke. Do I want to be able to run 3:50 and go to nationals? Absolutely. But I also want to be able to close out a 3:56/7 race in 55 if I have to.
Hey, if I felt flat speed-wise running 4:00 closing in 59/60, when I'm strong and sharp....
I dont think it's out of the question. I guess I'll find out.
I'm gearing up for the end of running for a team and teammates and legacy and with a true, close-by support system. How I do here will give me an indication of what I can do beyond college out in the big bad world all my myself, and I'm pretty fucking excited.
Tip: Always stay pretty fucking excited.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Summer Summary
As I sit here, flying out of Chicago after spending my
summer working in this new city I think about how mundane my running was these
last three months. Don’t misunderstand me – mundane is not necessarily a bad
thing. Talking with my coach going into summer training, he told me to use the
time to do almost the same exact thing I did in DC and nothing more. I was wary
at first; that grinding type of training had worn me down over the span of
eight long months and left me flat for nearly all of track season. He assured
me that during last track season and in the weeks off of running that followed
it my body adapted, and that it would not feel nearly as difficult this time
around.
So, that’s what I did. Throughout June and July I built up
60-65 mile weeks slowly, and in late July I transitioned to 70 mile weeks which
I should hold through the end of this month, all in singles of base runs which
I slowly push throughout. 8-9 mile runs starting at 6:30-40 with the last 4
miles at 6 minute pace once again became my standard run. However, as promised,
I don’t feel as worn as I did not even half a year ago. Also, the soccer and
dodgeball leagues that my friends and I joined in the city helped develop my
posterior-anterior muscle sets along my IT on the outside and inner meniscus on
the inside of my legs, which brought some of that salivating pop back into
them.
As far as racing is concerned, I ran only two noteworthy
efforts. On July 4th, we ran our team 5k, which I ran in 15:58,
battling with another kid before running away from him, only to be outkicked by
someone else who had capitalized on our struggle. I think that coach has us run
this race because it comes only after 3-4 weeks of running, and as any runner
knows that first week to 10 days is useless training, so really only after just
shy of 3 weeks of training. It is just enough base to be able to run a race and
push yourself, but not enough to be considered fit in any sense of the word. I
think that it is perhaps my weakest point during the year that I would consider
myself in some semblance of shape, which I suppose is precisely the reason why
we run the thing – to get a base reading on our ability.
A month later and a month stronger, we ran a 6 mile time
trial which I clipped off in 31:56, just under 5:20 pace for the stretch. I ran
it alone at 11pm on a rainy Tuesday, clipping the uninterrupted miles on a
fairly flat bike path. The first three miles felt like nothing, and they
gradually got more difficult as I approached the final stretch. Truth be told,
while the converted time (~33:09 10k) is a better mark than the 5k from a month
earlier, the effort was half hearted. I told myself that I would try to
maintain under 5:20 pace and I think I limited myself in that goal, as I was
solidly under pace going into the last mile and a half and contented myself in
holding form instead of tapping deep into that extra gear.
Within 48 hours I begin my senior (and likely final, I never
was as enthused about it compared to track) Cross Country campaign. I know I am
fit, and this summer was an exercise in patience by direction. If there is any
use for a coach for an overzealous distance runner, it is to be the coachman –
pulling back the reigns with his a wider view of the valley, only to release
them when the timing is right. I trust my coach wholeheartedly, and have no
qualms following his word. We return a strong team, and I expect strong season.
I guess we will see soon enough.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Last Race Salvation
I guess I should wrap up what happened, now that I've had time to reflect on it.
It started a few days after the league championships. I went in and talked to Coach, wondering what the fuck happened this season. It wasn't fair, I had put in more work slowly and steadily, without injury, without making myself too sore, and I hadn't seen any rewards.
We looked over my training schedule. Upon closer inspection, we came to two conclusions. First, I was running my base runs far too fast. I thought that a little more quality rather than quantity would be a good thing, but I overdid it. I had a 77 mile week (from a Wednesday-Wednesday) where my average pace on the week was a blistering 6:14/mile. Average. I was running my normal runs around 6:10 pace, my hard runs around 5:45 pace, and my long runs around 6:40 pace. Even with the 7+min pace warm ups for workouts, it was just too much. While each run wasn't making me sore itself, the accumulation of all that tired, tired muscle was just too much on my body, and I wasn't responding to track workouts.
It was not like it hadn't helped. I was absolutely crushing the over-distance work, compared to myself previously. But the speed, though it wasn't that bad, wasn't fast. In fact, the times were as fast as I had ever run at the beginning of the season, first workout, first race, and I was excited. Look back a couple months and see, I really was excited.
But then I didn't get faster, and the workouts didn't get any easier (at the same pace), and I didn't get any more 'pop' in my legs.
The second thing we noticed was that I was doing the same thing, I.E. stimulating the same muscles over the past 8 months. I would do 10 mile base runs without fail, 1 workout of mile or 1k repeats, 1 10mile hard run, and a 14-16 mile long run. Repeat for 30 weeks. Sure, it makes you strong, but not the kind of strong that middle distance runners should be. Strong, but not powerful. And in the 1500m you need to be just that - powerful.
I was not overly excited going into what was likely my last race of the season. The times hadn't played out for me like I had thought it would, not even close. The wins were there, and that was fun, but I need the times to get to the next level.
So, we did what we thought I should have been doing, and rested. All week, I did nothing but 40min trots and ONE 6x200 @ 31s pace. Just resting.
As I toed the line for the last time, I was probably as unenthusiastic for a race as I had been in years. I just thought - fuck it, sit in and see what happens.
I was pulled through in 63, and then 2:05....and I felt fine. It was 3 seconds faster than I had gone through all season, and I felt just fine. Just sitting. With one lap to go I was at 2:52.low, and I still felt fine. Hit 1200m at 3:07.mid, and I just started sprinting. Sprinting and sprinting and sprinting, I wanted to run a good mark so bad. All of the memory of work and hopes and sweat and vomit came rushing back as I sprinted my legs out from under me. I sprinted too early, and was a walking dead man in the home straight. It was stupid, it was amateur, but I didn't care. I was being passed by people who had timed their move right, but I didn't care. I just willed my stone legs forward until I crossed the god damn line in 3:54 and it's not the time I had planned for the season but fuck it its finally vindicated what I put myself through and no matter what happens from here on out at least I can say that on one day I ran a 3:54.
Is that good enough for me? Of course it's not, I'm a runner. I'm not in it for the views and the lovely pace of trotting along, feeling great about myself for how in shape I am. I'm in it for the transformative pain that one can only learn about by putting themselves through it, without anyone else to tell them when or why. I ran a smart race with a dumb kick, and I'll learn from it.
And hey, if I start my season next year at 3:54 after what I've learned, I'll know what to look forward to.
It started a few days after the league championships. I went in and talked to Coach, wondering what the fuck happened this season. It wasn't fair, I had put in more work slowly and steadily, without injury, without making myself too sore, and I hadn't seen any rewards.
We looked over my training schedule. Upon closer inspection, we came to two conclusions. First, I was running my base runs far too fast. I thought that a little more quality rather than quantity would be a good thing, but I overdid it. I had a 77 mile week (from a Wednesday-Wednesday) where my average pace on the week was a blistering 6:14/mile. Average. I was running my normal runs around 6:10 pace, my hard runs around 5:45 pace, and my long runs around 6:40 pace. Even with the 7+min pace warm ups for workouts, it was just too much. While each run wasn't making me sore itself, the accumulation of all that tired, tired muscle was just too much on my body, and I wasn't responding to track workouts.
It was not like it hadn't helped. I was absolutely crushing the over-distance work, compared to myself previously. But the speed, though it wasn't that bad, wasn't fast. In fact, the times were as fast as I had ever run at the beginning of the season, first workout, first race, and I was excited. Look back a couple months and see, I really was excited.
But then I didn't get faster, and the workouts didn't get any easier (at the same pace), and I didn't get any more 'pop' in my legs.
The second thing we noticed was that I was doing the same thing, I.E. stimulating the same muscles over the past 8 months. I would do 10 mile base runs without fail, 1 workout of mile or 1k repeats, 1 10mile hard run, and a 14-16 mile long run. Repeat for 30 weeks. Sure, it makes you strong, but not the kind of strong that middle distance runners should be. Strong, but not powerful. And in the 1500m you need to be just that - powerful.
I was not overly excited going into what was likely my last race of the season. The times hadn't played out for me like I had thought it would, not even close. The wins were there, and that was fun, but I need the times to get to the next level.
So, we did what we thought I should have been doing, and rested. All week, I did nothing but 40min trots and ONE 6x200 @ 31s pace. Just resting.
As I toed the line for the last time, I was probably as unenthusiastic for a race as I had been in years. I just thought - fuck it, sit in and see what happens.
I was pulled through in 63, and then 2:05....and I felt fine. It was 3 seconds faster than I had gone through all season, and I felt just fine. Just sitting. With one lap to go I was at 2:52.low, and I still felt fine. Hit 1200m at 3:07.mid, and I just started sprinting. Sprinting and sprinting and sprinting, I wanted to run a good mark so bad. All of the memory of work and hopes and sweat and vomit came rushing back as I sprinted my legs out from under me. I sprinted too early, and was a walking dead man in the home straight. It was stupid, it was amateur, but I didn't care. I was being passed by people who had timed their move right, but I didn't care. I just willed my stone legs forward until I crossed the god damn line in 3:54 and it's not the time I had planned for the season but fuck it its finally vindicated what I put myself through and no matter what happens from here on out at least I can say that on one day I ran a 3:54.
Is that good enough for me? Of course it's not, I'm a runner. I'm not in it for the views and the lovely pace of trotting along, feeling great about myself for how in shape I am. I'm in it for the transformative pain that one can only learn about by putting themselves through it, without anyone else to tell them when or why. I ran a smart race with a dumb kick, and I'll learn from it.
And hey, if I start my season next year at 3:54 after what I've learned, I'll know what to look forward to.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Finals, 3rd Act.
Okay, NOW I'm nervous.
I don't know how the race will go, and it's unsettling.
I can win. I know I can win.
I don't really have much to say, it was a pretty uneventful final. Someone who had no business leading the race at all took it out in 62, and the field quickly strung out. My teammate Bennett, who had the fastest seed time by miles coming into the race, follows him. I try to go with the move but I'm boxed. By the time I'm out, he's far far around the bend.
It's alright, we're only 600m into the race. Lots of running to go.
Bennet extends his lead through 800m, as I lead the chase pack around the original leader, fighting the harsh winds on the backstretch. I'm more tired than I think.
Coming around with one lap to go, Bennett is way out in front, and I'm leading the chase pack that has been whittled down to 3 men. Having run the steeplechase the night before, I can see Bennett tying up. I start to move. I don't care about the two men hanging on my back.
I'm desperately closing the gap, step by step. Coming around the final bend I'm still over one second back. Yards closing between us become feet, then inches. I'm tying up. With 50m to go I realize that I'm not going to catch him. The two men following me are still on my shoulder, having matched every step thus far. Don't you fucking lose this spot.
I hold on for second. Freshman year, 5th. Last year, 3rd. This year, 2nd. But that doesn't tell the whole story. This year was far weaker. I ran slower than last year. I ran pretty similar to Freshman year. Prelims can explain some of that, but I wasn't really 'springy' for this race. I was right to worry, my speed hasn't come around like I'd like it too.
I don't know if these last few weeks will see my months of toil pay off, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. Maybe I'll try the 5k. We'll see. I have to do SOMETHING with this strength.
I don't know how the race will go, and it's unsettling.
I can win. I know I can win.
I don't really have much to say, it was a pretty uneventful final. Someone who had no business leading the race at all took it out in 62, and the field quickly strung out. My teammate Bennett, who had the fastest seed time by miles coming into the race, follows him. I try to go with the move but I'm boxed. By the time I'm out, he's far far around the bend.
It's alright, we're only 600m into the race. Lots of running to go.
Bennet extends his lead through 800m, as I lead the chase pack around the original leader, fighting the harsh winds on the backstretch. I'm more tired than I think.
Coming around with one lap to go, Bennett is way out in front, and I'm leading the chase pack that has been whittled down to 3 men. Having run the steeplechase the night before, I can see Bennett tying up. I start to move. I don't care about the two men hanging on my back.
I'm desperately closing the gap, step by step. Coming around the final bend I'm still over one second back. Yards closing between us become feet, then inches. I'm tying up. With 50m to go I realize that I'm not going to catch him. The two men following me are still on my shoulder, having matched every step thus far. Don't you fucking lose this spot.
I hold on for second. Freshman year, 5th. Last year, 3rd. This year, 2nd. But that doesn't tell the whole story. This year was far weaker. I ran slower than last year. I ran pretty similar to Freshman year. Prelims can explain some of that, but I wasn't really 'springy' for this race. I was right to worry, my speed hasn't come around like I'd like it too.
I don't know if these last few weeks will see my months of toil pay off, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. Maybe I'll try the 5k. We'll see. I have to do SOMETHING with this strength.
Prelims, year 3
I'm not even nervous at the line. Not even a little bit.
I know I should be, because you never know what's going to happen, but I'm just...not.
I don't think there's any way that I don't make the final. I expect it not to hurt, which is stupid. Unless you're world class, running in high 4:0x range isn't a cakewalk. It can sting.
68, 70. We're walking, which is dangerous.
You never know who can be there on a kick. Someone takes it hard with 500m to go. Fine, let him go. Top 4 make the final and I don't need to run a 60.
3 follow him. Damn, maybe I do need to go.
Cutting around the turn we really are moving. I'm trying to relax in 4th, but there are two on my shoulder. Kicking around the final bend, we finish up right at 4:10, with a 59/60 last lap. Yes, that stung. More importantly, I hope my foot holds up. Plantar fascistic has been biting for over a week now.
Tomorrow, Finals.
I know I should be, because you never know what's going to happen, but I'm just...not.
I don't think there's any way that I don't make the final. I expect it not to hurt, which is stupid. Unless you're world class, running in high 4:0x range isn't a cakewalk. It can sting.
68, 70. We're walking, which is dangerous.
You never know who can be there on a kick. Someone takes it hard with 500m to go. Fine, let him go. Top 4 make the final and I don't need to run a 60.
3 follow him. Damn, maybe I do need to go.
Cutting around the turn we really are moving. I'm trying to relax in 4th, but there are two on my shoulder. Kicking around the final bend, we finish up right at 4:10, with a 59/60 last lap. Yes, that stung. More importantly, I hope my foot holds up. Plantar fascistic has been biting for over a week now.
Tomorrow, Finals.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Stagnation
I don't really understand what's wrong with me. I opened the season in 4:00 and it looked promising, but I'm still running 4:00 and we're two weeks away from conference finals.
I'm definitely fitter, my workouts have been faster, and running 64s in a race have felt super easy as opposed to hard, but when the running really starts I don't have anything. Today, I felt like I was on cruise control through 800m. I took over at 600, feeling fine. A couple guys went around me with 400m to go and I was in perfect position...but nothing clicked. I went from jogging to tying up without anything in between.
Every 4:00 has felt easier and easier, and this one was at 11am so maybe that had something to do with it, but fuck this is getting really annoying. I feel like I should be running 3:54 or thereabouts, this is ridiculous.
I'm hoping in the small amount of time I have left that I'll bust a fast time, but I'm running out of races. I don't know if it's my speed or anaerobic threshold or what, but this season is not turning out like I had thought it would at the start.
There's still salvaging time, but not a whole lot. We'll see. God willing, I can pull off a conference title in the 1500. That's still definitely in the cards.
I'm definitely fitter, my workouts have been faster, and running 64s in a race have felt super easy as opposed to hard, but when the running really starts I don't have anything. Today, I felt like I was on cruise control through 800m. I took over at 600, feeling fine. A couple guys went around me with 400m to go and I was in perfect position...but nothing clicked. I went from jogging to tying up without anything in between.
Every 4:00 has felt easier and easier, and this one was at 11am so maybe that had something to do with it, but fuck this is getting really annoying. I feel like I should be running 3:54 or thereabouts, this is ridiculous.
I'm hoping in the small amount of time I have left that I'll bust a fast time, but I'm running out of races. I don't know if it's my speed or anaerobic threshold or what, but this season is not turning out like I had thought it would at the start.
There's still salvaging time, but not a whole lot. We'll see. God willing, I can pull off a conference title in the 1500. That's still definitely in the cards.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Nerves
Before my race this weekend, my body was periodically shot with nervous adrenaline as it is before every race.
Thinking about it, what am I nervous about? I feel almost sick. I've had races where I've been FAR too nervous, and it has affected me. After this long, I've gotten pretty good at keeping the nerves at the right level.
But, again, what are the nerves signifying?
It may seem obvious to some, but I had an epiphany of sorts on my warm up. I'm not afraid of the other runners, I'm not afraid I'll let my teammates down, I'm not afraid I'll embarrass myself out there. No, if those things affected me, I wouldn't be where I am.
I'm really afraid of myself.
That after the race, I'll see my time, and it wont be good enough. What if my best just...isn't good enough? It's something I can't accept. I guess that's why I train. Hard.
I didn't have the best race this weekend. I ran a stupid tactical race, making 2 big surges to put myself into position, and when the running started with 300m to go I got left behind, barely dipping under 4:00. I was boxed in, going through 800m just under 2:10. AGAIN.
I digress. What I'm really afraid of is hitting the race perfectly, not making any errors, running as hard as I can...and running a slow time.
I feel as if every race, I am afraid I am not as fit as I think I am, and race to prove that I am every bit as fit as I hope to be.
I still haven't found that race, every one thus far has been a kickers duel (or I was horribly sick). Maybe next week.
Thinking about it, what am I nervous about? I feel almost sick. I've had races where I've been FAR too nervous, and it has affected me. After this long, I've gotten pretty good at keeping the nerves at the right level.
But, again, what are the nerves signifying?
It may seem obvious to some, but I had an epiphany of sorts on my warm up. I'm not afraid of the other runners, I'm not afraid I'll let my teammates down, I'm not afraid I'll embarrass myself out there. No, if those things affected me, I wouldn't be where I am.
I'm really afraid of myself.
That after the race, I'll see my time, and it wont be good enough. What if my best just...isn't good enough? It's something I can't accept. I guess that's why I train. Hard.
I didn't have the best race this weekend. I ran a stupid tactical race, making 2 big surges to put myself into position, and when the running started with 300m to go I got left behind, barely dipping under 4:00. I was boxed in, going through 800m just under 2:10. AGAIN.
I digress. What I'm really afraid of is hitting the race perfectly, not making any errors, running as hard as I can...and running a slow time.
I feel as if every race, I am afraid I am not as fit as I think I am, and race to prove that I am every bit as fit as I hope to be.
I still haven't found that race, every one thus far has been a kickers duel (or I was horribly sick). Maybe next week.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Remembering Sickness
Well, that went poorly.
I've been sick for two weeks now, and I've been trying to tell myself that I would be fine before this weekend. I warmed up coughing, I did strides coughing, and I was coughing 10 seconds before the gun went off.
Ya, I'll totally be fine.
The elite field assembled before me was hard enough without my sickness, and it was just embarrassing with it. As the gun went off the pack started jogging, as elite fields are want to do. I took the lead and went through with pedestrian splits of 63/2:07.
I felt awful. My body was shutting down after 200m and I was fighting every step of the way. I'm upset that the race went as poorly as it did, not because of any poor tactical error on my part but simply because I couldn't fucking breathe out there.
I'm upset that I waited so long for this opportunity and a few fucking bacteria made me run 4:21 (4:03 1500) in a race that was won in 4:10 (4:52 1500). I wanted to go to everyone running and watching after the race and say "guys guys, I was sick. I'm not really that bad."
But I cant.
I also cant be a whiney little bitch about it. It's done, in the past, and I have these hopefully-fantastic antibotics to help me get well. They're having SOME sort of effect, my heads a little wonked out as I write this.
Do your stuff azithromycin. Get me better so I can run like I know I can.
I've been sick for two weeks now, and I've been trying to tell myself that I would be fine before this weekend. I warmed up coughing, I did strides coughing, and I was coughing 10 seconds before the gun went off.
Ya, I'll totally be fine.
The elite field assembled before me was hard enough without my sickness, and it was just embarrassing with it. As the gun went off the pack started jogging, as elite fields are want to do. I took the lead and went through with pedestrian splits of 63/2:07.
I felt awful. My body was shutting down after 200m and I was fighting every step of the way. I'm upset that the race went as poorly as it did, not because of any poor tactical error on my part but simply because I couldn't fucking breathe out there.
I'm upset that I waited so long for this opportunity and a few fucking bacteria made me run 4:21 (4:03 1500) in a race that was won in 4:10 (4:52 1500). I wanted to go to everyone running and watching after the race and say "guys guys, I was sick. I'm not really that bad."
But I cant.
I also cant be a whiney little bitch about it. It's done, in the past, and I have these hopefully-fantastic antibotics to help me get well. They're having SOME sort of effect, my heads a little wonked out as I write this.
Do your stuff azithromycin. Get me better so I can run like I know I can.
Friday, March 16, 2012
6 Months Waiting
Coming through in 66 for the first 400m of our quad meet 1500m, I feel like shit.
Just stay here and cover moves I think to myself as I sit in 3rd.
2:14. Feels fast and I'm worried. It shouldn't feel fast.
500m to go pace heats up, and with just over 400m to go it drops like a rock. I think we pass the 1200m mark in 3:16.
Way off 1st, in 2nd with 3rd on my shoulder. Somehow I run down the leader to win, 4:00.
I was tired, it hurt, it felt too hard for the opening pace, the splits were everywhere, but dammit I won.
That was 2 weeks ago. We get 3 or 4 chances to run a real fast time in a season, and tonight is one of them. Oxy distance carnival is one of the best meets, because its, well, all distance. It's at night, so it's perfect distance running weather here on the outskirts of LA.
Since that race a couple weeks ago, my speed has slowly come around. We didn't have a workout last week and we just hammered workouts. Kenyon runs, 12x400 with 1min rest in 63-64, a few 400s in 54, a race simulator of 150s, 400s, and 200s all smashed together.
It was a rough week, but this lazy spring break week leading up to tonight has been very easy.
And I'm very nervous.
It's the first chance to run a great time, and I've been thinking about it for 6 months. At least. Without cross country (because I was abroad in the fall), there was no other races to focus on. Just thousands of lonely miles thinking about races to come. Like this. Like tonight.
My seed time is faster than I have ever run by 4 seconds, and it's basically the last seed in the fastest heat. Oh, a couple sub4 milers and a World Championship qualifying 800m guy? 2 more DII All-Americans also? Why not.
It doesn't really matter, I'll go out and hold on for dear life.
I AM nervous though.
Really nervous.
I don't know what I'm capable of running, but I hope it's fast enough. I'm seeded to run a 3:54 (~4:11/4:12 mile equivalent).
Let's try to run that, shall we?
Just stay here and cover moves I think to myself as I sit in 3rd.
2:14. Feels fast and I'm worried. It shouldn't feel fast.
500m to go pace heats up, and with just over 400m to go it drops like a rock. I think we pass the 1200m mark in 3:16.
Way off 1st, in 2nd with 3rd on my shoulder. Somehow I run down the leader to win, 4:00.
I was tired, it hurt, it felt too hard for the opening pace, the splits were everywhere, but dammit I won.
That was 2 weeks ago. We get 3 or 4 chances to run a real fast time in a season, and tonight is one of them. Oxy distance carnival is one of the best meets, because its, well, all distance. It's at night, so it's perfect distance running weather here on the outskirts of LA.
Since that race a couple weeks ago, my speed has slowly come around. We didn't have a workout last week and we just hammered workouts. Kenyon runs, 12x400 with 1min rest in 63-64, a few 400s in 54, a race simulator of 150s, 400s, and 200s all smashed together.
It was a rough week, but this lazy spring break week leading up to tonight has been very easy.
And I'm very nervous.
It's the first chance to run a great time, and I've been thinking about it for 6 months. At least. Without cross country (because I was abroad in the fall), there was no other races to focus on. Just thousands of lonely miles thinking about races to come. Like this. Like tonight.
My seed time is faster than I have ever run by 4 seconds, and it's basically the last seed in the fastest heat. Oh, a couple sub4 milers and a World Championship qualifying 800m guy? 2 more DII All-Americans also? Why not.
It doesn't really matter, I'll go out and hold on for dear life.
I AM nervous though.
Really nervous.
I don't know what I'm capable of running, but I hope it's fast enough. I'm seeded to run a 3:54 (~4:11/4:12 mile equivalent).
Let's try to run that, shall we?
Monday, February 27, 2012
The early ups and downs
With 120m to go in an 800m, I sit in 3rd and I just can't go any faster.
This is ridiculous I'm not tired I just cant move my legs. Move MOVE...
nothing happens. Oh well, it's the second week of February and my speed is nowhere to be found. I run 1:59, a time slower than Freshman year, but one that I am far more at peace with than 2 years ago. I remember running 1:58 flat and throwing a shit fit.
The circumstances are different. Then, I had been doing speed leading into the season. Probably too early. Actually, definitely too early.
Now, I have been doing nothing but my staple 10 mile base runs, 4 mile tempos, 10 mile tempos, and 14-15 mile long runs for 8 months leading into the season. The last time I ran a lap as fast as both of my laps in the 800m was about 9 months ago.
Skip to Tuesday's track workout
Last rep. 350m, go through 200m just under 29 and hold it. Last rep
As we take off my left calf is sore, but that's to be expected, it's been sore since I got back. No speed in my legs.
Pump and stay light, just another worko-FUCKFUCK
It feels like something clamps on my calf and I just hit the ground. Strained it.
Luckily I'm only out 10 days, and swimming is an old friend (or foe, depending on the day) of mine so I should be alright. Should be.
I just finished up a light weight session, 6 days after I strained it and it feels pretty good actually. With any luck, I'll be able to do Thursdays workout (or part of it) and possibly race this weekend. Possibly.
Injuries are a part of running. In the training room, I had a Freshman teammate ask me if I was freaking out because of the time I was missing.
And you know what, 2 years ago I totally would be. But I just had the best training of my life, and 10 days isn't going to do anything to derail that. I AM getting a little worried that my speed won't be there until very late in the season, but that's to be expected.
I think I'll lay off the hills for a month, it definitely played into why my calf busted.
Patience is infuriating at first, but eventually you get used to it. I've waited a year, I can wait 10 days.
This is ridiculous I'm not tired I just cant move my legs. Move MOVE...
nothing happens. Oh well, it's the second week of February and my speed is nowhere to be found. I run 1:59, a time slower than Freshman year, but one that I am far more at peace with than 2 years ago. I remember running 1:58 flat and throwing a shit fit.
The circumstances are different. Then, I had been doing speed leading into the season. Probably too early. Actually, definitely too early.
Now, I have been doing nothing but my staple 10 mile base runs, 4 mile tempos, 10 mile tempos, and 14-15 mile long runs for 8 months leading into the season. The last time I ran a lap as fast as both of my laps in the 800m was about 9 months ago.
Skip to Tuesday's track workout
Last rep. 350m, go through 200m just under 29 and hold it. Last rep
As we take off my left calf is sore, but that's to be expected, it's been sore since I got back. No speed in my legs.
Pump and stay light, just another worko-FUCKFUCK
It feels like something clamps on my calf and I just hit the ground. Strained it.
Luckily I'm only out 10 days, and swimming is an old friend (or foe, depending on the day) of mine so I should be alright. Should be.
I just finished up a light weight session, 6 days after I strained it and it feels pretty good actually. With any luck, I'll be able to do Thursdays workout (or part of it) and possibly race this weekend. Possibly.
Injuries are a part of running. In the training room, I had a Freshman teammate ask me if I was freaking out because of the time I was missing.
And you know what, 2 years ago I totally would be. But I just had the best training of my life, and 10 days isn't going to do anything to derail that. I AM getting a little worried that my speed won't be there until very late in the season, but that's to be expected.
I think I'll lay off the hills for a month, it definitely played into why my calf busted.
Patience is infuriating at first, but eventually you get used to it. I've waited a year, I can wait 10 days.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Back on Track
Alright, lets get to it.
The training paid off.
8 months of shit I just hated doing - 4 & 10 mile tempos, mile repeats, averaging 65-75 mile weeks in singles, 14-15 mile long runs, all that shit.
Totally paid off.
I was hesitant to post how my progress was going because I was sick the end half of December and the first week of January, and coming back to school we didn't do much to start out aside from what I had been doing (as coach said, NCAAs was 5 months and a week away from the day we got back), so there wasn't anything to say.
California is really nice? I love being back on campus with all my friends?
But, alas, this a running blog. And running was pretty standard (but seriously though, SoCal is fucking nice to train in).
The goal for the season is NCAAs in the 1500m. They changed the 'standards' to make them the Top20 times instead of any sort of mark, so there you go. To make it, just be in the Top 20 in the country.
Let's begin.
We had a rust-busting alumni meet where I ran a solid 900m-ish grass loop, but can't really indicate track fitness.
My REAL opener was at Azuza Pacific last weekend opening up the 1200m leg of the DMR.
I didn't really know what I was capable of, but I thought 3:06 was in the cards if I played it right. I didn't know who else would be there, and based on previous years and times I was guessing I would time trial.
I was wrong, but gratefully so.
The gun went, and I slipped in behind a BIOLA (Bible Institute Of Los Angeles) kid as he took the first 100m out hard
[Side note: I'm Jewish. Bible Institute? #LetsGoJews]
I haven't been acclimated to pace just yet, and I thought we were going out slow, and I was antsy
Go around him, no your stride is light just sit what are we at? 60...61...62..oh thats perfect 62 low just sit just sit
It was just so smooth. We passed the 500m mark and I could feel him slowing down and I tried to go around
Eyes flick back in anger, pace picks up. He wants to fight this out. I'll fight this out
He leads through 800m but considerably slower
2:04...2:05...2:06...2..
We pass in 2:06.high and I just wait around the turn and shift gears with 300m to go and walk away from everyone.
Coming around the turn I just drive
Fuck, I love this shit
Hand off for a 3:08. Not bad, last 300m of 44/45.
That was Saturday.
On Tuesday, I ran a 4.34 mile TT loop that the team has been running since the '80s in 22:46, the #10 time ever on the team. Just out there cruising.
So, ya. I'm in shape.
Am I in shape to run 3:50?
Not yet.
Will I be?
I'm starting to turn from believing I can to knowing I can.
The training paid off.
8 months of shit I just hated doing - 4 & 10 mile tempos, mile repeats, averaging 65-75 mile weeks in singles, 14-15 mile long runs, all that shit.
Totally paid off.
I was hesitant to post how my progress was going because I was sick the end half of December and the first week of January, and coming back to school we didn't do much to start out aside from what I had been doing (as coach said, NCAAs was 5 months and a week away from the day we got back), so there wasn't anything to say.
California is really nice? I love being back on campus with all my friends?
But, alas, this a running blog. And running was pretty standard (but seriously though, SoCal is fucking nice to train in).
The goal for the season is NCAAs in the 1500m. They changed the 'standards' to make them the Top20 times instead of any sort of mark, so there you go. To make it, just be in the Top 20 in the country.
Let's begin.
We had a rust-busting alumni meet where I ran a solid 900m-ish grass loop, but can't really indicate track fitness.
My REAL opener was at Azuza Pacific last weekend opening up the 1200m leg of the DMR.
I didn't really know what I was capable of, but I thought 3:06 was in the cards if I played it right. I didn't know who else would be there, and based on previous years and times I was guessing I would time trial.
I was wrong, but gratefully so.
The gun went, and I slipped in behind a BIOLA (Bible Institute Of Los Angeles) kid as he took the first 100m out hard
[Side note: I'm Jewish. Bible Institute? #LetsGoJews]
I haven't been acclimated to pace just yet, and I thought we were going out slow, and I was antsy
Go around him, no your stride is light just sit what are we at? 60...61...62..oh thats perfect 62 low just sit just sit
It was just so smooth. We passed the 500m mark and I could feel him slowing down and I tried to go around
Eyes flick back in anger, pace picks up. He wants to fight this out. I'll fight this out
He leads through 800m but considerably slower
2:04...2:05...2:06...2..
We pass in 2:06.high and I just wait around the turn and shift gears with 300m to go and walk away from everyone.
Coming around the turn I just drive
Fuck, I love this shit
Hand off for a 3:08. Not bad, last 300m of 44/45.
That was Saturday.
On Tuesday, I ran a 4.34 mile TT loop that the team has been running since the '80s in 22:46, the #10 time ever on the team. Just out there cruising.
So, ya. I'm in shape.
Am I in shape to run 3:50?
Not yet.
Will I be?
I'm starting to turn from believing I can to knowing I can.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Lesson 6: Dealing with it.
Everyone has their own strategy for dealing with pain. Not The Pain, but pain in an immediate sense. Pain in a 3rd-lap-of-the-mile sense.
Everyone has their own way to deal with it. To focus your entire entity on forgetting how much you hurt in that moment.
Now, there are common ways people cope. Archetypes of coping, you could call them
1 LAP GIVE ME 1 LAP
Just 2 more minutes, please just two more minutes
Don't let him go. Don't you let him go. HANG ON
For your TEAMMATES, for your COACH, DO IT FOR THEM
I've tried all of these. They've all worked to various degrees. At least, enough to give me moderate success in the sport.
But for me, there's another way. One a little more cruel.
All of the foregoing ways to deal with the immediacy of pain assume that the pain will end if you just stick with it to the finish line. Just put yourself through it now, and when it's over you'll be better for it.
My high school often quoted the famous running motto - Pain is temporary, pride is forever
But I think the best way is to do the opposite.
I run as if the pain will never end.
Put a time goal down, and start running it. I'm going to run 5:48s for these 10 miles.
As the miles peel away, I make sure I am on pace. I give myself a little buffer, running a few 5:43-5:45s to give myself a few seconds if I slip up in future miles.
But mentally, I don't count mile 4 as being 6 miles from the finish, or even mile 9 as being 1 mile from the finish. I have before, and I've crumbled that way. Focusing on the end only reminds me how far I am from it.
I've come to assume that the run won't end, so when it does I'm pleasantly surprised while still not drained mentally from focusing on the end point.
These mental games have developed over the past 7 months as I've been running alone in the night, 90% of my runs lighted only by streetlamps and the soft glint of the moon.
When you can't physically see the endpoint, eventually it fades away mentally as well. And then you're in the moment, just running to run.
Why focus on the pain if it's going to be there forever? Might as well get used to it. Make it friendly.
I told you it was a bit cruel.
Everyone has their own way to deal with it. To focus your entire entity on forgetting how much you hurt in that moment.
Now, there are common ways people cope. Archetypes of coping, you could call them
1 LAP GIVE ME 1 LAP
Just 2 more minutes, please just two more minutes
Don't let him go. Don't you let him go. HANG ON
For your TEAMMATES, for your COACH, DO IT FOR THEM
I've tried all of these. They've all worked to various degrees. At least, enough to give me moderate success in the sport.
But for me, there's another way. One a little more cruel.
All of the foregoing ways to deal with the immediacy of pain assume that the pain will end if you just stick with it to the finish line. Just put yourself through it now, and when it's over you'll be better for it.
My high school often quoted the famous running motto - Pain is temporary, pride is forever
But I think the best way is to do the opposite.
I run as if the pain will never end.
Put a time goal down, and start running it. I'm going to run 5:48s for these 10 miles.
As the miles peel away, I make sure I am on pace. I give myself a little buffer, running a few 5:43-5:45s to give myself a few seconds if I slip up in future miles.
But mentally, I don't count mile 4 as being 6 miles from the finish, or even mile 9 as being 1 mile from the finish. I have before, and I've crumbled that way. Focusing on the end only reminds me how far I am from it.
I've come to assume that the run won't end, so when it does I'm pleasantly surprised while still not drained mentally from focusing on the end point.
These mental games have developed over the past 7 months as I've been running alone in the night, 90% of my runs lighted only by streetlamps and the soft glint of the moon.
When you can't physically see the endpoint, eventually it fades away mentally as well. And then you're in the moment, just running to run.
Why focus on the pain if it's going to be there forever? Might as well get used to it. Make it friendly.
I told you it was a bit cruel.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Adaption
I don't remember the last time I ran under 10 miles.
Well, let me qualify that. I've done workouts and tempo runs that have been shorter, obviously. But I haven't done a base run under 10 miles in god knows how long.
I remember doing 7mile runs with a teammate then tacking on a 2 mile loop at the end the rare times we ran together in DC.
But I'm back home in Seattle now for the next few weeks, and it looks like my winter holds many 64min runs in store before I head down to SoCal (For some reason, all of the 10 milers here have taken 64min & change).
I'm confident in my strength, I'm just going on 7months of training completely alone (save a few key workouts with a group in DC I'd meet with for workouts every other week), and that plays tricks on you.
I hit mile 6 on a hard 10miler. 5:41. I laugh as the thought occurs to me that all of this is to beat 2 athletes who finished ahead of me in conference last year. Fuck it, if I can run 3:50, then they're going to have to run 3:49 to beat me. And I don't think they can run 3:49.
The only break in my extended base monotony has been harder 10 mile runs (exciting, I know), 4 mile tempos, and the occasional ladder track workout.
There's nothing I want more right now than to lace up my spikes and get after track season. But, wiser heads always prevail and when talking to my coach, he reminded me that I still have 5 months until NCAAs.
sigh, A couple more months of this. It better pay off, this over-distance shit is fucking hard.
Who knew that the way to get better at distance running was by running longer distances?? Someone should have warned me when I was 16. But after that first time under 4:40, I was hooked.
And here I am, almost 5 years later. I wonder what I would say to myself on that cold day I shocked myself and ran 4:38.
Probably to quit.
But more likely, to train harder. I'm a bit of a sadist.
Well, let me qualify that. I've done workouts and tempo runs that have been shorter, obviously. But I haven't done a base run under 10 miles in god knows how long.
I remember doing 7mile runs with a teammate then tacking on a 2 mile loop at the end the rare times we ran together in DC.
But I'm back home in Seattle now for the next few weeks, and it looks like my winter holds many 64min runs in store before I head down to SoCal (For some reason, all of the 10 milers here have taken 64min & change).
I'm confident in my strength, I'm just going on 7months of training completely alone (save a few key workouts with a group in DC I'd meet with for workouts every other week), and that plays tricks on you.
I hit mile 6 on a hard 10miler. 5:41. I laugh as the thought occurs to me that all of this is to beat 2 athletes who finished ahead of me in conference last year. Fuck it, if I can run 3:50, then they're going to have to run 3:49 to beat me. And I don't think they can run 3:49.
The only break in my extended base monotony has been harder 10 mile runs (exciting, I know), 4 mile tempos, and the occasional ladder track workout.
There's nothing I want more right now than to lace up my spikes and get after track season. But, wiser heads always prevail and when talking to my coach, he reminded me that I still have 5 months until NCAAs.
sigh, A couple more months of this. It better pay off, this over-distance shit is fucking hard.
Who knew that the way to get better at distance running was by running longer distances?? Someone should have warned me when I was 16. But after that first time under 4:40, I was hooked.
And here I am, almost 5 years later. I wonder what I would say to myself on that cold day I shocked myself and ran 4:38.
Probably to quit.
But more likely, to train harder. I'm a bit of a sadist.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Fumbling My Chance
I stand in awe and dismay as the metro that is supposed to take me half an hour away to my race just goes right through the station without stopping. Every so often the metro cars will be 'no passenger' in DC, and it was just my stupid luck that it happened to be this one.
This train would have put my 2 blocks from the start line at 9:15am, a solid 45min before the start of the race. The next yellow line train that will take me to the same place won't come for another half an hour, and I can't wait that long. I grab the Green line, pop out about halfway between where I started and the course, and grab a cab.
Traffic traffic traffic traffic and suddenly I'm there. 9:50am. Shit.
I pay, run through the thousands of people waiting for the bathroom, into the gym, grab my bib number, and sprint to the starting line. 9:54am. I cut my warm up clothes off, throw my flats on, and briskly jog along, trying to warm up and pin my number on at the same time.
shit shit shit I don't have time to warm up! It's okay its a perfect day, just go with it the race is 5 miles you can work into it. Don't worry you'll be fine remember the plan
They have us stand at the line just before 10am, sing the national anthem, get some remarks from everyone and their god damn dog involved with the process. It's 10min past start time and they haven't let anyone move. Stupid race directors. I should've used this time to keep jogging, regardless of what they were saying.
As the gun goes I stretch out, light from having a couple recovery days but stiff from not warming up. I slide in behind a couple Kenyans and let them do the work. They're here to win money and are undoubtedly faster than I am, I just want a fast time.
The first mile is pancake flat. I don't see any mile marker but I see we've been running 6 min so it's well behind us. The road turns down softly, and I get left behind by a few guys as the group splits, leaving me and one other guy together.
I see the 2mile mark approaching. It's literally a guy with an orange vest standing on the side of the road waving a flag that says '2miles.' Ridiculous, I know. So ridiculous in fact that I don't check my watch until we're just past him by 10 meters or so. 9:59, maybe a few ticks faster at the 2mile.
The road continues downward and I'm in no mans land. I hit the turn around and I'm tightening up Jesus this is painful, stretch out you're slowing down stretch out
I turn and head back up the way I came and I'm dying a slow, slow death. My legs just will not respond to me. They're feeling the first two miles and I'm in a territory I haven't been in in over a year. I'm pushing back up, probably past 3 miles now. I don't know. I'm barely moving.
All I can think is that I should just drop out, I'm going to be nowhere near the time I want. But I know I'm not going to, I didn't train this hard to drop out of a race, regardless of how hard I'm tanking the 4th mile.
I lose track of where I am. Someone says there's half a mile to go. Someone else says there's a mile to go. Eventually the road flattens out and I see the finish, a long long way off.
I'm confused. There's race pain but my vision is getting blurry. This is new, it's like I'm wearing blinders. I try to wipe the sweat away but nothing happens. Slowly I can't see much of anything, all I can do is run and hope there's not a hole to rip my ankle off
I cross the line in 27low. 27:09? It doesn't matter. I absolutely blew up.
I lay on the grass as thousands of people stream across the line over the course of the next half hour. It's all just a swirl, the conversation in my head isn't one of anger, or disappointment, just sadness.
I'm sad I missed the opportunity to run well. I know I'm fit, I know I'm capable of far better, I just went out and tried to be a hero on my first race back. Dying a slow death is the most painful way to run, and lord that death march will haunt my legs for months to come.
I don't know how fit I am, but I'm fitter than that. I wonder what would have happened if I tried to run 25:30 or 25:50 instead of 24:50. Maybe I would have run faster, maybe I would've died just the same.
I sit here, 6 weeks away from heading back to school, 6 months away from conference championships and 7 months away from NCAAs. I don't know what to expect, but all I can do is train the best way I know how and hope for the best.
Hopefully I won't pull this shit again. All I can do is learn from it and move on, I suppose.
This train would have put my 2 blocks from the start line at 9:15am, a solid 45min before the start of the race. The next yellow line train that will take me to the same place won't come for another half an hour, and I can't wait that long. I grab the Green line, pop out about halfway between where I started and the course, and grab a cab.
Traffic traffic traffic traffic and suddenly I'm there. 9:50am. Shit.
I pay, run through the thousands of people waiting for the bathroom, into the gym, grab my bib number, and sprint to the starting line. 9:54am. I cut my warm up clothes off, throw my flats on, and briskly jog along, trying to warm up and pin my number on at the same time.
shit shit shit I don't have time to warm up! It's okay its a perfect day, just go with it the race is 5 miles you can work into it. Don't worry you'll be fine remember the plan
They have us stand at the line just before 10am, sing the national anthem, get some remarks from everyone and their god damn dog involved with the process. It's 10min past start time and they haven't let anyone move. Stupid race directors. I should've used this time to keep jogging, regardless of what they were saying.
As the gun goes I stretch out, light from having a couple recovery days but stiff from not warming up. I slide in behind a couple Kenyans and let them do the work. They're here to win money and are undoubtedly faster than I am, I just want a fast time.
The first mile is pancake flat. I don't see any mile marker but I see we've been running 6 min so it's well behind us. The road turns down softly, and I get left behind by a few guys as the group splits, leaving me and one other guy together.
I see the 2mile mark approaching. It's literally a guy with an orange vest standing on the side of the road waving a flag that says '2miles.' Ridiculous, I know. So ridiculous in fact that I don't check my watch until we're just past him by 10 meters or so. 9:59, maybe a few ticks faster at the 2mile.
The road continues downward and I'm in no mans land. I hit the turn around and I'm tightening up Jesus this is painful, stretch out you're slowing down stretch out
I turn and head back up the way I came and I'm dying a slow, slow death. My legs just will not respond to me. They're feeling the first two miles and I'm in a territory I haven't been in in over a year. I'm pushing back up, probably past 3 miles now. I don't know. I'm barely moving.
All I can think is that I should just drop out, I'm going to be nowhere near the time I want. But I know I'm not going to, I didn't train this hard to drop out of a race, regardless of how hard I'm tanking the 4th mile.
I lose track of where I am. Someone says there's half a mile to go. Someone else says there's a mile to go. Eventually the road flattens out and I see the finish, a long long way off.
I'm confused. There's race pain but my vision is getting blurry. This is new, it's like I'm wearing blinders. I try to wipe the sweat away but nothing happens. Slowly I can't see much of anything, all I can do is run and hope there's not a hole to rip my ankle off
I cross the line in 27low. 27:09? It doesn't matter. I absolutely blew up.
I lay on the grass as thousands of people stream across the line over the course of the next half hour. It's all just a swirl, the conversation in my head isn't one of anger, or disappointment, just sadness.
I'm sad I missed the opportunity to run well. I know I'm fit, I know I'm capable of far better, I just went out and tried to be a hero on my first race back. Dying a slow death is the most painful way to run, and lord that death march will haunt my legs for months to come.
I don't know how fit I am, but I'm fitter than that. I wonder what would have happened if I tried to run 25:30 or 25:50 instead of 24:50. Maybe I would have run faster, maybe I would've died just the same.
I sit here, 6 weeks away from heading back to school, 6 months away from conference championships and 7 months away from NCAAs. I don't know what to expect, but all I can do is train the best way I know how and hope for the best.
Hopefully I won't pull this shit again. All I can do is learn from it and move on, I suppose.
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